#sari x alistair

[inquisimer]

happy friday mer!!! for your mahariel/alistair, "❛ if only the time and space between us wasn’t lonely ❜"

happy dadwc kia and ty for the prompt! it's sad mahariel hours in my house (it's always sad mahariel hours in my house) ;-;

for @dadrunkwriting

-

Sari used the cover of darkness to sneak back into Denerim. When she left, months ago, she’d planned to stay away forever. Even now, with corpses cleared and buildings repaired, ghosts lingered on each and every cobblestone.

But she had to come. Her heart beat against the scrap of paper in her breast pocket, an unsigned message in loopy writing: it is built.

When she rounded the corner up Queen’s Row, Sari’s breath caught. Alongside the palace gates stood a new structure, gleaming in the moonlight. A proud, silver-plated griffon perched on the roof, wings unfurled, about to take flight. Piles of flowers and coin and ribbons cluttered the entrance where a magical flame flickered, blue and undying to honor the one who gave his life to save them all.

Sari kept her hood drawn, past the lone guard and all the way up to the shrine. A few pieces of armor (that she knew to be fakes), a glass case over a polished medal, and a sword affixed to the wall above it. That was real—there could be no mistaking the dried flecks of the archdemon’s Blighted blood.

A smooth inscription in the marble read:

Alistair Theirin Warrior | Grey Warden | Hero of the Fifth Blight In Death, Sacrifice.

She placed her hands over the words so that she wouldn’t have to see the terrible code that condemned him to die. As soon as her palms touched cool stone, her knees gave way; she sank to the floor and pressed her forehead to it instead, tasting salt on her tongue as tears made their lonely, inevitable journey to the floor.

I miss you, she cried, silent. I cannot do this alone.

She had not been allowed to grieve for Tamlen. But there was no one in this world or the next, no quest or crisis that could keep her from anguish now. Not when her love was gone to ashes.

They should have been heroes together. Or he should be here, and she in the gilded urn, just a legend, a myth. That’s what she would be, anyway. The people who claimed to exalt her did not recognize her pointed ears or tattooed face—their eyes glazed over her where they would have latched on to Alistair.

You should be here.

She could feel the tears ending, for now. Just as well—she could not linger, lest she invite Leliana to descend her perch from the palace. And she could not bear the presence of her friend, not now, no matter how dear, no matter how she’d covered for Sari’s absence with both the crown and the crowds. Her touch was too gentle and forgiving to survive the barbs that Sari would stake into her if they met now.

With shaking hands, she loosed the leather cord from her neck. She felt off-balance without the weight of the tiny vial at her throat, but she set it alongside the other offerings at the shrine. The dark, sludgy concoction within oozed and warped as it settled.

Sari knelt before the shrine once more and pressed a kiss just over his name. How cold the stone was beneath her lips; the hardness sealed itself in her heart as she stood and wiped her face.

Ar lath ma, vhenan.

With each step she took, pieces of her fell away. A myth, a legend, a cautionary tale left in her wake.

The Hero of Ferelden left Ferelden behind.

[names-for-alters]

Hello one and all, alters and headmates! I am Charlie! I like to make lists! I also hoard names! Are you looking for a name? GREAT! You can send an ask and request a specific aesthetic or origin of name, or you can look at my list!

With that said…

…Cracks knuckles…

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cabaran

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Tongle

Gavril

Luella

Malachite

Leonard

[inquisimer]

MER hap fri! How about ❛ i am trying to do the job that you were meant to do. ❜ for Alistair x Warden?

dredging this ages old prompt out for tonight's @dadrunkwriting, thank you ro mwah mwah

Some angst from Sari's first timeline :3

~~~

They made camp just a breath outside of Redcliffe, when the tension between Sari and Alistair threatened to snap. Tents came together amidst stony silence and soon the familiar smell of smoke and reheated stew enveloped them.

Sari heard her companions’ stilted attempts at banter as if through a fog. She took up a perch on the stump of a fallen tree and stared into the murky darkness of the forest. A yearning, deep and rooted in her heart, resurfaced.

Go. Run.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and looked down at her hands as she exhaled. They looked ordinary—pale, a bit scarred, perhaps a bit shaky. Certainly no one would expect the blood that coated them in her mind.

A twig snapped behind her and she stiffened, fingers folding into a tight fist. There was a very distinctive weight in the step and she knew each of her companions’ gaits well enough by now.

“We have nothing to discuss, Alistair,” she said. “You made your thoughts on my choices very clear.”

Alistair cleared his throat. “I know. But Leliana won’t leave me be until I talk to you. So if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stand here until I’ve satisfied her urge to mediate.”

“It’s not.”

“Hm?”

“It’s not all the same to me.” Sari glowered at a weathered root protruding from the ground. “I want to wallow in solitude.”

“Wallow?” Bitterness wrapped around Alistair’s words like thorns around a rose. “I thought you’d be celebrating the victory at Redcliffe. A demon defeated! A child saved!”

“Fuck off Alistair. You’ve been over here long enough for Zevran to distract Lana, and I’m really not in the mood to be your punching bag.”

“Yeah, well I don’t think Lady Isolde was in the mood to be your blood sacrifice either but here we are.”

Sari’s facade cracked like a lake under thaw and she whipped around, braids careening about her ears. She dropped down from the stump and stalked across the bit of distance Alistair had left between them.

“You had your chance,” she hissed. “You’re the senior warden, remember? If you wanted these alliances to be Chantry-approved, all you had to do was take the lead at Lothering.”

“But you didn’t.” She jabbed her finger into his chest with each word. “And now I am trying my best to do the job you were meant to do.”

“If you don’t like the way I work, go find some mage to send you back in time,” she bit out. “Otherwise use your preaching lectures on someone who cares to listen.”

“Sari—“ His hands ghosted over her arms, as though to grip her by the elbows and pull her close, but she swatted them away. The hurt in his eyes matched the hurt in her heart, but they were separated by an ocean of misunderstanding and miscommunication and right now she wasn’t sure there was a bridge wide enough to cross it.

“Just go, Alistair.” Her hands relaxed, fists unfurling as she gave him her back and returned to her stump. “Leave me alone.”

His hesitation salted the air, and a very small part of her underneath the layers of anger and hurt and betrayal wished that he would push back. But that was so far out of character, it was more of a foolish hope than a wish.

And the cracking twigs as he retreated back to the fire proved it.

[inquisimer]

happy friday!! how does 'Reading a book together' sound for Mahariel and anyone of your choice?

happy happy friday, anything mahariel always sounds perfect because i love her<3

this has been marinating in my head for a bit and i finally found some motivation to actually type it out this week so have a lil bit of fluff

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

“Did you know, rumor holds that when the last Ferelden king dies, the Dragon’s Peak will erupt in ash and fire?”

Alistair scowled. “Yes. Do you have to read that wretched thing when I’m around?”

“When else am I supposed to read it?” Sari gave him an impish grin over the faded maroon tome. “You’re always around.”

“Maybe we should split up,” he grumbled.

The Compleat Geneaology of the Kyngs of Ferelden was imprinted on the cover in peeling gold paint, and on the spine in smaller filigree of the same shade. Bodahn had practically fallen over when she offered to take it off his hands—“not sure why we kept lugging that brick around to be honest”—though not quite excited enough to offer her more than the usual discount. He was a businessman after all.

“Ostensibly, that means Cailan couldn’t have been the last Ferelden king. Seeing how the only impending world disaster is the Blight.”

“Or maybe it’s a ridiculous rumor, started by the royal advisors, in a propaganda-fueled scheme designed to cement their hold on the throne.”

“The best rumors have a kernel of truth to them.”

Alistair glared at the book with such force that Sari was surprised it didn’t burst into flame. She pulled it back slightly toward her chest, just to be sure it was out of his arm’s reach. She wouldn’t put it past him to ‘accidentally’ knock it into their little fire.

Sari knew that her experiences weren’t universal, but Alistair’s apparent indifference to his lineage irked her. For her part, she’d pestered Ashalle and the Keeper, Ilen and hahren Paivel for hours, begging for even a scrap of her personal history. When her old guardian finally relented, not even a day before they found the eluvian, Sari had taken the story into her heart and looped the necklace around her wrist, where it still firmly clung.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious where you come from?”

“I know where I come from,” he insisted. “Eamon gave me my childhood. Duncan gave me the only part of adulthood worth remembering. The Theirins have given me nothing.”

Sari hummed. She was pushing his buttons, she knew, but they hadn’t really gotten into it much last time around, because he’d put off telling her about his lineage as long as possible.

“Don’t the shems say, ‘blood is thicker than water’?” she asked. To her surprise, Alistair actually smiled at that.

“The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb,” he corrected with a snort. “They used to say that to templar recruits who were homesick. I always thought it was fitting for the Wardens, all things considered.”

“No kidding.”

“Regardless,” he said, giving her a sardonic look down his nose, “I’ve never been a Theirin. Their history holds as much interest for me as Morrigan’s sweaty boots.”

Sari shrugged with calculated nonchalance. “Whatever you say. I’d have thought you’d be more concerned about what the book implies about Theirins in general, that less discerning readers might extrapolate to you.”

“What, flowing locks and charismatic leadership?” Alistair scoffed. “There’s nothing in that book anyone would be foolish enough to think applies to me.”

“Oh?” A wicked grin snuck across Sari’s face, which she quickly hid by raising the tome. Years of deceptive antics with Tamlen went into her ability to keep her voice level now. “So you don’t have a birthmark shaped like Lake Calenhad on your—”

His blush rose high in his cheeks faster than the sparks off the fire, and just as red too. Sari didn’t bother hiding her laughter—neither did Leliana or Zevran, who’d been at least pretending they weren’t eavesdropping from where they were keeping watch.

“It does not say that!” Alistair scrambled around the fire, but Sari deftly rolled beyond his reach and danced backward to keep the tome that way as well.

The tome didn’t have a single sentence about birthmarks, of course. It was a dry, dull ode to the monarchy written by an author who was at least a little bit in love with Brandel the Defeated, judging by the apologist rhetoric. But Sari had seen the birthmark for herself—on Alistair, at least. It wasn’t actually a family trait as far as she was aware.

But Alistair didn’t know that for sure and it was going to stay that way, as long as she could keep the tome out of his hands.

She led him on a merry chase around the campsite, weaving between the tents and storage crates and various patches their companions had claimed. Her nimbleness and dexterity gave her the early advantage, but his legs were far longer and he was rapidly gaining on her. In a last, desperate bid, she shoved the tome down her shirt and hugged it tight to keep it from slipping out as Alistair tackled her to the ground behind Bodahn’s wagon.

A fresh blush quickly chased away his look of triumph when he realized where his prize lay. It wasn’t as though the tome was well concealed—it was almost wider than Sari herself—but the thin layer of her tunic was more than his Chantry-ingrained sensibilities could overcome. It probably didn’t help that they were both knocked prone and panting from their little jaunt. Sari could practically see his thought process: from the initial desire to the obvious implication to the Andrastian inhibition. He huffed out a breath and sat back on his haunches, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Fine, keep the bloody book! Let all of Thedas know I have a geographically specific birthmark where the sun don’t shine!”

“Is than an offer of demonstration?” called Zevran.

Alistair made a crass gesture—definitely offending those Chantry sensibilities—in the elf’s direction.

“You know, this book ends with Maric.” Sari had propped herself against one of Bodahn’s wagon wheels and was flipping through the tome once more, toward the back this time. “The author bound a bunch of blank pages after that.”

“He was a little over-optimistic about the Theirin line,” muttered Alistair. Sari looked up at him through her lashes, gauging his mood.

“We could fill it in, after we follow up on Elric’s lead about Ostagar,” she said cautiously. As she expected, Alistair stiffened. He still wasn’t processing his grief properly. She bit back a sigh.

“If you want.” She shrugged, then grinned deviously. “I’ll also gladly include an affidavit that bastards don’t get the birthmark, so you’ll be excluded from the legend.”

“That would just feed the garbage and you know it,” he grumbled. But his eyes and voice were soft when he finally looked over at her.

“I would like that. For Cailan,” he clarified. He cleared his throat and looked away again—the blush was back full force. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said lightly. She stood and allowed herself to casually brush her knuckles across the back of his hand, then went to relieve Leliana from her watch.   

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday! For DADWC: ‘What nonsense! Of course that’s not how the story ends’ for Mahariel/Tamlen?

this was such a sweet fluffy prompt! so I wrote angst ofc🥰

sorry not sorry, hope you enjoy!

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

Tamlen was a few years older than Sari, and he liked to remind her of it. As usual, they’d secluded themselves from the other children; he sat atop a stump and Sari was cross-legged at its base, dutifully listening as he retold one of hahren Paivel’s tales.

“And then” —he leaned in conspiratorially and dropped his voice— “the Dread Wolf sprang out from behind a bush and ate the shemlen!”

“That is not how the story ends!” Sari leapt up and pointed an accusing finger at her friend.

“How do you know?”

“’Cause I pay attention when the hahren tells stories, that’s how!”

In lieu of responding, Tamlen reached out and gave Sari’s braid a none-too-gentle tug; she repaid him by sticking out her tongue, and then they were tussling on the ground, rolling about in the grass and mud until a shadow fell over them.

“Dal’en’en.” Ashalle’s disapproving voice brought them both to their knees. Before they could turn their mud-streaked, totally innocent faces on her, she scooped them up by the scruff of their necks. The clan had made camp next to a gurgling stream, just deep enough to make a splash when she dropped the pair unceremoniously in.

“Come back to camp when you’re clean and dry.” And she left them to splash each other to exhaustion.

-:-:-:-:-

They hunted together often. Sometimes it was a game, a competition, sometimes a friendly pastime. Today, it was a chase.

Her toes gripped the soft earth as she darted through the trees. The dampness soaked through her footwraps, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins warded off any chill. Her ears twitched every few yards: a bird taking flight, a squirrel chittering up a tree trunk, the gurgle of the creek to her left.

She loved the forest like this, bathed in the gray light of dissipating clouds, everything dripping with recently fallen rain.

The cover of trees abruptly gave way to a small clearing. Sari stopped short and blinked, but before her eyes could adjust to the influx of light, a lithe figure sprang from the side and tackled her to the ground. Instinctively she drew her bow close to protect it as she and Tamlen tumbled side-over-side in the grass, both laughing as they went.

They finally came to a stop, both covered in bits of wet greenery, faces red, hair mussed and, in Sari’s case, pulled completely loose from its tie. It hung down in a curtain around Tamlen’s face from her position straddling his hips, hands propped against the ground on either side of his face. Caught up in the adrenaline of the chase, the hunt, the catch, Sari almost missed how his eyes dropped to her lips for just the barest second.

Almost.

“You know, Andruil used to kiss her hunters at the end of a successful hunt,” he said cheekily.

“Sure she did.” Sari rolled off so they were lying side by side and looked up at the misty sky. “That’s not how those stories end, lethallin.”  

-:-:-:-:-

“Tamlen?” she breathed.

Darkspawn corpses littered their campsite. Most of her companions were passing around waterskins, swishing their mouths and wiping their faces clean of the tainted blood. Alistair stood beside her, sword still drawn, held back only by her hand and the desperate longing in her question.

Only one of their attackers was still standing. He was a horribly twisted thing, but she recognized his armor. What was once healthy skin had been blackened by prolonged exposure to the Blight; wide eyes were sunken and rimmed with even darker patches; his hair had all fallen out, exposing the mottled patches of his scalp.

When he spoke, his voice was completely unrecognizable. Gravelly, like sandpaper against concrete, and echoing, like three people were speaking at once.

“You…” he croaked. “Lethallan…”

“It is—Tamlen—let me go!” She lunged to throw her arms around her old friend, only for Alistair to catch her arm and pull her back, shaking his head. She turned to him with bared teeth. But Tamlen was shaking his head too.

“Don’t…don’t come near me. Stay away!” He fled, but Sari had always been faster and she chased him to the edge of camp.

“Don’t look at me!” He hung his head and covered it with his arms. “I am…sick.”

“I know, lethallin,” she murmured. “But you are still you. I can help.”

“No! The song…in my head…it calls to me. He calls to me—I can’t make it stop!”

Ignoring Alistair’s objections, Sari sheathed her daggers and grasped Tamlen’s wrists. Her heart squeezed; they were little more than a papery layer of skin over brittle bones. If she clenched her hands, she would probably snap them clean in two. He struggled against her grip, but she’d grown stronger in the intervening months, and he was too weak to manage it.

“Please, Tamlen. Please. Let me help you—I can save you!”

“Sari…” She didn’t look at Alistair, didn’t want to acknowledge what that regretful note in his voice meant. They’d saved her and Tamlen was twenty times her worth—he would survive—he had to—

“This is…advanced Blight sickness.” Alistair touched her shoulder lightly, but she flinched anyway. “When it gets this bad…we can’t help him, love.”

“Too far,” Tamlen confirmed. “You cannot help me.”

“No!” She forced her eyes to stay open, even as a sheen of tears clouded her vision. She’d thought him lost to her long before this, and she wouldn’t take her eyes off him until he was whole and well again.

“Please…” he rasped. “I don’t…want to hurt…you…”

Somewhere in the haze of her anguish, she lost the grip on his wrists and her daggers returned to her hands. But she couldn’t.

“This is not how the story ends,” she sobbed. Tamlen laid his hand over hers and smiled; a ghost of the real thing, warped and sad, but a smile nonetheless.

“I am…so sorry. Always…loved you. Vhenan.”

He tugged, and they drove the blade forward.

Together, as they always had.

But never would again.

[inquisimer]

Happy Friday! For DADWC: ‘something in your eyes like kaleidoscopes // takes the saddest part and makes it beautiful,’ for Alistair x warden (warden of your choice). Thank you! :)

took some liberties with this one😅 the prompt is there, if you squint

for the @dadrunkwriting 100-word challenge

~~~

The amulet is cracked, white residue seeping out the edges where it hasn’t dried properly. He doesn’t know if she put it back together, or if she found it like this. It doesn’t matter either way.

The light glints off the tarnished silver and it looks just like her eyes; it’s even tinged with as much sadness. Speechless, he crushes her in a hug.

Finally pulling back, he cups her face in both hands and his fingertips trace the delicate lines of her vallaslin.

“You remembered.”

“Of course.” She smiles and shakes her head. “You’re special to me, you idiot.”

[inquisimer]

Heya! I bring you a prompt on this fine Friday! From the "Untranslatable words" list:

24. Fernweh (German): Feeling homesick for a place you have never been to.

For the muse that strikes your inspiration :D

Hello and happy friday!! Thank you for the prompt<3

pairing(?): sari mahariel x alistair (sari's first timeline)

@dadrunkwriting

They were picking their way through the Brecillian Forest and Sari’s heart was aching and she had no fucking idea why. She’d been cycling between loneliness and adrenaline with little break between since the Keeper had handed down her sentence, which was why she’d insisted they go to the Dalish first, despite what Alistair said about Eamon. Surely what she needed was the aravels around her, and the comforting warmth of the halla, and the familiar chiding of the hahren’s parables.

But she found no solace with Zathrian’s clan. She brushed it off as the sinking feeling that Zathrian wasn’t telling her the whole truth, but really her heart hadn’t lifted in the slightest when she saw the camp. She was missing something other than solidarity of her clan and she didn’t know what it was and it was driving her insane.

So lost in her thoughts, she tripped over a poorly-concealed snare along the path to the werewolves’ lair. Her reflexes were dulled by introspection and she would have been caught in the trap, if not for the gauntlet that clenched around the straps of her armor and jerked her back. She thudded against Alistair’s chest, breath knocked from her lungs as his other arm came up to steady her descent.

“Steady there,” he murmured, hands on her shoulders guiding her to a stable position. She let him, and didn’t stop to think about how her heartbeat slowed or the anxious ache in her throat eased in that moment. Not then, at least.

Morrigan, at least, was happy with the outcome. That should have been a red flag, but Sari was so bitter she couldn’t bring herself to care about Zevran and Wynne were stewing in the back or the unfathomably sad looks Alistair kept shooting her way. She’d come to the Dalish in search of comfort and familiarity; she’d been slapped in the face with Zathrian’s hate and cynicism. The empathy she felt for the werewolves just reinforced the sneaking suspicion she’d had since Ostagar.

She didn’t belong with the Dalish. Not anymore.

But the ache in her heart didn’t ease, didn’t disappear with the understanding that she had no home to return to anymore. What was she longing for, what did her heart know existed that her mind had never heard of? How could she hurt so much for something she’d never known?

Alistair found her by the fire one night. He’d been dreaming of the archdemon; she knew, because he was always pensive after the nightmares, and she’d been having them too. He joined her watch, unbidden, and in uncharacteristic silence.

He didn’t approve, she knew. The slaughter of an entire clan wasn’t her proudest moment, and she knew that it would haunt her for years to come. But the apathy, how Zathrian had been willing to let his clanmates die rather than sacrifice his foolish pride—it was everything the shems said the Dalish were, and everything she’d spent her life believing they were not.

A betrayal begets a betrayal, as it were.

Alistair didn’t berate her for her choice. Good, since it would have been easy to throw back in his face how he’d refused responsibility, handed her the reins, knowing full well that she was untrained and headstrong and emotional. He pressed his leg against hers and lightly looped his arm around her, tightening it when she didn’t pull away, so they were fit against each other like puzzle pieces.

Sari felt the anxious beat of her heart still and the ache in her throat recede. His scent filled her senses and blocked out the concern and the plotting and the consequences. He smelled like polish and Wynne’s homemade soap and his warmth flooded more than her skin. She tilted her head back to observe him and though his gaze was fixed on the fire, the blush spreading across his neck said that he felt her looking.

Whatever had been beating against her soul, the pieces that had cracked when she left with Duncan, slotted into place. Maybe she was fated to love only Blighted things, or to Blight the things she loved. She thought of Tamlen, and the danger she should have protected him from. This wasn’t quite that; it was something she’d never known, but longed for nonetheless. A question she hadn’t known to ask, but Alistair answered anyway.

It would undoubtedly burn her in the end. But as the Keeper always said: she thrived in the fire.

[inquisimer]

Welcome to dadwc! I would love to see “Please, no, please just listen to me!” from the emotions dialogue prompts for your Mahariel!

hello thank you i am super excited to be here!! And I love to write Mahariel, she was my first Origins OC and I reworked her canon recently and I'm loving it! So here's a lil angsty drabble about Sari's first fight with the archdemon

@dadrunkwriting

The darkspawn were endless. No matter how many Genlocks she shanked, how many Leliana speared on her arrows, how many Alistair cut through with his sword, an equal or greater number replaced them. They needed to ignore the horde, she realized, eyes settling on the archdemon that had landed on an oasis to lick its wounds. Otherwise they stood even less of a chance, which wasn’t good, since they already stood barely any chance at all.

A sudden surge of energy drove through her as Wynne cast a restorative across the entire group; Sari sheathed her daggers and raised her crossbow, kicking a Hurlock back in the process.

“Keep them at bay!” she shouted to Wynne and Lana, who nodded and retreated to an easily defensible corner. She didn’t even look at Alistair, mainly because she was afraid of what he’d do if she offered him room to speak. Instead, she focused on pelting the archdemon with bolts, drawing him back to an attackable position.

Bit by bit their efforts made a difference; they disabled a foreleg, and blinded it in one eye. Even the horde was less oppressive, driven back by Wynne’s barriers and—hopefully—their leader’s lagging spirit. Sari sent one well-placed shot into the archdemon’s open maw and it choked off a roar, sagging against the piecemeal surface of Fort Drakon.

This was their moment.

Sari lunged, only to find herself flat on her ass, what little breath she had knocked from her lungs. Alistair had thrown his shield at her—pinned her with it, actually—and she knew, in a moment of horrific, crystal clarity, that she wouldn’t have time to stop what he was going to do.

“Please, no—” she gasped, struggling with her exhausted limbs and the unwieldy metal, “Vhenan, please just, listen to me!”

They had discussed this, hadn’t they? Last night, hadn’t he agreed? Sari realized with a dawning horror that perhaps Alistair was a better liar than she’d given him credit for.

He leaned over her prone form and pressed a quick, desperate kiss to her lips. He tasted of blood and dirt and Blight.

“No,” he whispered. He brushed her hair back behind one ear, a tender motion so at odds with the anger coursing through her and the determination written on his face. He nodded ever so slightly and pulled back. It was perhaps the most confident choice she’d ever seen him make.

“I love you,” he said, one last time. Then he pulled back and—despite how quickly Sari returned to her feet—took off with a roar, leaped, and drove his sword down through the archdemon’s skull.  

She felt it, the call in her Tainted blood as the Blighted soul left its dying host and sought out the one who had slain it. She felt her damaged heart break even further and surely it must stop beating, because she could see Alistair fall motionless on the stone and she could not continue to breathe—

But she did. And it was her deepest regret.

[inquisimer]

Stories of Thedas - Day 22: Waterfall

sad Mahariel is sad😭 as she takes care of Tamlen’s remains

wc: 536

~~~

Sari took Tamlen’s ashes with her when she left Denerim. 

It felt like an age had passed since she’d seen him whole, and another since she’d been forced to end his half-life. They’d burned his body separate from the darkspawn corpses and Wynne fashioned a makeshift urn to hold the ashes Sari so carefully collected. It took up most of her pack and weighed down her already burdened shoulders, but none of her companions were foolish enough to suggest that she let anyone else carry it. 

As the months passed and she became increasingly despondent, she would sit cross-legged by the fire and clutch the urn close to her heart. When the fire died down to barest embers, Alistair would come and pull her into the tent or, if she refused even that, wrap a blanket around her shoulders and sit by her in silence. 

But Alistair was gone and they wouldn’t let her carry his remains with her–he was important, unlike the elf who hadn’t lived.

It was selfish, truthfully. Although she no longer kept to the old ways, Tamlen had and he deserved the proper rites. But Sari couldn’t bring herself to send him away and, though she still loved her former clan dearly, in her last, bitter memories of them, the Keeper gave up on finding Tamlen. So, no, Sari wouldn’t give his ashes to the clan and Tamlen, wherever he was, would just have to forgive her for that. Or not.

It wasn’t like she was going to forgive herself. 

As in much of their youth, he was her only companion on the journey away from Denerim. She left the others behind, along with her armor and any foolish trappings the Wardens might have had of forcing her to stay. She cradled the urn like a child and cried: for Alistair, for Zevran, for all the mistakes she’d made and the wrongs she couldn’t make right. She cried for Tamlen and she cried for the girl he used to chase through the trees, catching butterflies. 

She didn’t find the courage to let go until many, many years later. After her trek to the west and the terrible discoveries there, after she brought that knowledge back to Avernus, after they used it to cleanse her blood of the Taint. It was only then that she worked up the nerve.

She took him back to the Brecilian Forest. He would’ve liked that, she hoped, to be laid to rest where they shared so many memories. It was a difficult path to walk. She saw ghosts of people who weren’t dead and memories of people she had killed around every bend and tree, but she managed to find a clearing they’d frequented when the clan camped nearby.

It was hardly large enough to be called such, just a little u-shaped space that butted up against a cliffside. A gentle stream of water trickled over the rocks and flowed into the creek that bisected the ground; it was there that she sat, and dangled her feet into the stream, and finally said goodbye to her oldest friend.

And as the last of his ashes drifted away with the current, “Sule tael tasalal.”

Until we meet again. 

[inquisimer]

This is FINALLY up to date😅 I showed up to stories of thedas seven days late and it took me another seven to get caught up, but we’re there and I’m going to keep it that way

uhhhh somewhere around chapter 8 this becomes almost exclusively fills for Sari Mahariel and it’ll probably stay that way, just a fair warning lol 

Chapters: 14/31 Fandoms: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary:

short drabble fills for Stories of Thedas VI

pairings/characters in chapter titles

[inquisimer]

Stories of Thedas - Day 16: Shield

Alistair uses his shield in a way the manufacturer did not intend

pairing: Sari Mahariel x Alistair

((warning, fluff ahead))

~~~

Sari had never seen snow before.

“What do you mean, never seen snow?” spluttered Alistair. “Aren’t you from Ferelden?”

“Only part time! My clan moves with the seasons, specifically to avoid harsh weather like this.” She tucked her nose against her armor, but the hardened leather did little to ward off the chill. It felt as though she’d been encased in one of Merrill’s winter grasps–which she’d only agreed to do once, because it left her chilled and irate for days. Alistair glanced back over his shoulder and snorted, then unwound Wynne’s scarf from his neck and looped it around Sari’s, all the way up over her nose. 

“Here,” he said softly. “Can’t have you catching your cold before your first real experience with snow.” 

Sari didn’t answer, because she was burrowing her face into the knitted fabric. It was warm from his body heat and it smelled like cinnamon and weeks on the road and something distinctly Alistair. 

They continued up the hill toward the reported location of Haven. A ways to the rear, Wynne and Leliana were bantering good naturedly about something according to the Chantry, which Sari had long since learned to tune out. The higher they climbed, the more the chill seeped through her armor and the harder it was to catch her breath. 

Eventually they reached some sort of wooden structure, like the framing for a gate. Alistair turned on his heel and surveyed the incline. Apparently it was to his liking, because he dropped his pack and his sword, then flipped his shield upside down on the hard-packed snow. When Sari finally reached his chosen position, he gestured to the inverted shield with a wide grin.

“Hop on!”

The muscles in the top half of Sari’s face were a little too numb for her to be sure she’d raised an eyebrow, but she managed to convey her skepticism somehow, because Alistair pouted and gave her a pleading look. 

“Please?” He drew out the word like a child begging for extra sweets. “It’ll be fun, I promise.” 

Sari grumbled, but acquiesced. Her weapons and pack joined his in the snow and she settled cross-legged on the shield. It wobbled precariously and she couldn’t stop a dubious squeak, even though Alistair quickly stabilized her. He chuckled, low and warm and right in her ear, since he’d clambered on behind her and dug his heels into the snow to hold them in place. 

Suddenly, Sari didn’t feel cold at all. 

The shield barely accommodated them both–because it was a shield, and not, say, a cart–so Alistair was pressed close, every inch of her back and neck aligned with his chest. He wrapped his arms loosely around her waist; silently, Sari thanked the absent gods for the layers of leather and metal between them, so he couldn’t feel how her heart was thundering. 

“Ready?” he murmured. 

“No–”

The wind swept away her response as he lifted his heels and their weight carried the makeshift sled forward. Sari, scrambling for purchase, clamped her hands on his arms where they were now tight around her. Her initial terror gave way to swooping exhilaration as they flew down the hill, welling up in bursts of laughter the further they went. They sped past Leliana and Wynne, showering both in a spray of snow. 

The hill seemed much shorter on the way down than the climb up; as they neared the bottom, a wall of snow rose up to meet them. Alistair started muttering curses under his breath, barely audible over the whoosh of the air in her ear, and concern mingled with the joy in her chest. 

“Alistair–”

“Hold on!” he cried. His grip on her waist tightened and his legs tensed; just before they plowed into the snowbank he twisted to the side and pulled her with him, head over feet, so they ended in a snow-dusted tangle a few yards away. His shield didn’t fare half as well–it disappeared into the snowbank in a puff of powder.

They laid still for a few beats, chests heaving and adrenaline pumping. Then they both burst out laughing.

Sari managed to get control first and she extricated herself from his limbs. Her legs were somewhat shaky still, but she helped pull Alistair to his feet and brushed the snow as best she could from both their armor. His hair was adorably mussed and his face was cherry red, as she imagined hers must be as well. 

“You’re insane–that’s what shems do for fun when it snows?”

“C’mon, admit you enjoyed it, even a little?” 

She had enjoyed it, just not for any reasons she was going to tell him. Instead she gave him an indulgent smile, to which he whooped and pumped his hand in the air; she followed it with a groan, when she looked back at the way they came.

“Now we have to climb all the way back up,” she moaned. 

“I’ll carry you,” Alistair offered, but he was looking rather morosely at the place where his shield had vanished. “Do you think Wynne would melt that snow for me?”

“After you blasted her with cold, wet powder?” Sari snorted, rewrapping his scarf around her face. “Not a chance.”

[inquisimer]

WIP Wednesday

thank you @dreadfutures for the tag🥰🥰🥰

here's an exerpt from my as-yet-unnamed-and-unpublished fix-it au with Sari Mahariel

hnnnnnnnnnn i don't know who to tag but if you're looking for a tag consider this yours

"Can I ask…you said something, when you woke up." Alistair grabbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. Sari made an affirmative noise. "In…elven?"

"Yes."

The silence dragged out for a few beats, while he waited for her to answer the obvious question and she obstinately ignored it. 

"What was it, exactly?"

She shrugged. "I don't really remember, to be honest," she lied. The look he gave her was skeptical, but she knew that he would be charitable, given what he thought she'd only just been through. He would probably ask again, later down the road, but hopefully she'd think of a better excuse then. 

If she was still around.

That gave her pause, because it suddenly occurred to her that there was nothing tangible keeping her in Ostagar or with the Wardens. Before, she’d been naive, new to shem settlements and detrimentally unfamiliar with how the world worked outside the Dalish. Now though…she knew more than enough to make it on her own. She could reach Soldier’s Peak before they realized she was gone, free herself of the Taint, and walk away. She might even be able to reach the Amaranthine Coast before Sabrae crossed over to the Marches. 

She blinked against the unexpected sheen of tears and her vision, which had gone blurry in her introspection, focused on a familiar flower. Hibiscus moscheutos, with its large white petals and blood red center, standing tall and proud in the late afternoon sun. There was something poetic, probably, about how fond she’d grown of the plant after discovering its role in the cure, but she wasn’t of the mind to pursue it. She reached out and brushed her fingers against the flower.

“Isn’t that the flower the kennel master asked for?” asked Alistair and Sari froze. In a very, very dusty corner of her memories there was a sick dog and a request that she’d ignored in favor of a knife. Depending on the truth of where or when she was, that dog might be beyond her help–but there was a dog, here, now, that she could save.

Hadn’t that been the point of Lavellan’s contingency plan? There’d been a lot of wine-fueled, theoretical discussions about the nature of the universe, the existence of fundamentally unseeable dimensions, parallel but subject to the free will of the inhabitants–most of it over Sari’s head, to be honest, but she’d been happy to drink Irosyl’s wine and serve as a sounding board for the mages. They eventually decided that it didn’t matter whether Irosyl ended up in the same timeline or not–not if you believed that all worlds were worth saving. 

[inquisimer]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alistair/Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Alistair/Female Warden (Dragon Age) Characters: Female Mahariel (Dragon Age), Female Warden (Dragon Age), Alistair (Dragon Age), Morrigan (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Dragon Age: Origins Quest - Morrigan's Ritual, Named Mahariel (Dragon Age), Established Relationship, Soft Alistair (Dragon Age), tbh i think the dark ritual would have been a better point to harden alistair, also then i would have motivation to not choose it every time, mild cursing if that sort of thing bothers you

Summary:

On the eve of the Battle of Denerim, Mahariel refuses an offer that seems to be a perfect solution.

Alistair would know why.

[inquisimer]

happy friday dear mer!! would you like a leetle angst this lovely dadwc friday? how about for tamlen x mahariel:

“I swear, I’ll try harder not to miss as much: the tree, or how your fingers under still sleep-stunned sheets coaxed all my colors back.” ― Ada Limon, Bright Dead Things: Poems

hnnnnnnn GOD i'm not even sure if this fill fits the prompt adfsjkl but it's angsty and it's tamlen and mahariel and i tore my own heart out so HERE YOU GO

for @dadrunkwriting

~~~

They didn’t often stop here in the warmer months. It was one of their winter sites, because the snow didn’t collect and the ice didn’t cover the nearby pond. But for now it was convenient and for a few days Sari and Tamlen could enjoy the soft grass alongside the lakebed.

“What do you think is coming for us?” Tamlen asked, voice barely a breath over the hum of mosquitos and crickets. “Do you think we’ll be here in a year’s time?”

Sari rolled onto her side, eyes catching on the light of fireflies. It was muggy and warm and she could feel the perspiration out of every pore.

“No,” she said, an impish grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I think we’ll be closer to Kirkwall, as we usually are when the winter comes.”

Her partner—brother, really—reached out and flicked her ear, drawing a shriek and a swat from the young rogue. She kicked out and made contact with his firm legs, though he succeeded in trapping her between them and flung his arms around her waist to draw her close. The were sharing a breath and Sari’s caught, looking up into Tamlen’s eyes, soft and brown, like melted toffee. They were her safe space, the place she could go and scream or cry or shout for joy and never be let down; the net that would always catch her when she fell.

She could never imagine a life without him.

He traced her cheekbones, still bare in contrast to his, which were marred with tribute to Dirthamen. Her day was coming, and her heart beat anxiously to have the ink that would place her as an equal in his eyes.

“Always the smart one.” But Tamlen sounded sad. She wondered if it was one of his odd premonitions that colored his words with sorrow.

“The keeper says there’s rumors of a Warden in the area.” Tamlen eased himself up into a sitting position, pulling Sari with him so she was sitting crossways in his lap. “And talk of a Blight coming.”

“Worried, lethallen?”

“Nah.” He gave her that impish smile, the one that warmed her heart and set the butterflies in her stomach to fluttering. In an effort to ground herself, she pulled her arms from around his neck and threaded her fingers in the long grass, digging them into the soft soil underneath.

“Between your daggers and my bow, we could conquer any darkspawn. Why should I be worried?”

She couldn’t argue with that logic. A gentle breeze flickered off the water, as if the Creators had summoned it just for them. It rustled her braids and rippled his too-long curls and Sari closed her eyes, to capture the moment with her other senses. The grass was slightly damp under her fingers and Tamlen’s skin was warm against her legs; she could smell the faintest trace of roast from their nearby camp and the residual sweat from their earlier hunt. His heart beat against her shoulder in a comforting thump thump thump and she felt that nothing could be as secure and peaceful as this moment right now.

Her fingers trailed up his arm and traced his ear, snorting when his shoulders seized because he was just a bit too ticklish there. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder and inhaled against the leather. There was something she needed to tell him, right? Something important, something that couldn’t wait—something that she would regret not telling him sooner.

She pulled away and tilted her head upward so they were eye to eye. Her lifelong brother, her friend and partner in all things smiled down at her, as sad as she’d ever seen.

“Wake up, Sari,” he said.

Wake up Sari.

“Sari. Sari. Wake up.”

She jolted upright in the chill of their tent. Alistair was shaking her shoulder with one hand, pushing her daggers into her palms with the other. She felt the tug of the Taint in her gut and knew that the darkspawn just outside wouldn’t wait for her to contain the emotions in her throat. She blinked away the residual sleep in her eyes and tugged on her boots, because she’d learned there was little less pleasant than walking across Ferelden with mud and water between her toes.

Her fingers brushed across the amulet twined around her wrist and she swallowed the fresh lump that rose in her throat.

“Mi’nas’sal’inan, lethallen,” she murmured.

And she went to face the destiny they never imagined.

[inquisimer]

Filled Prompts

A compilation of which prompts I’ve already written and for which ships/characters/etc. That’s not to say I won’t take the same prompt twice (I will), but in case you’re looking for something original

find the general tag for my writing here

Origins/Awakening:

Sari Mahariel x Alistair

“please, no, just listen to me!”

Fernweh: feeling homesick for a place you have never been to

something in your eyes like kaleidoscopes // takes the saddest part and makes it beautiful

Ariya Tabris x Zevran

forehead or cheek kisses

bandaging/stitching up an injury

one character adjusting the other’s jewelry/necktie/etc.

chastity belt

Solona Amell x Alistair

“H-how long have you been standing there?”

putting an arm around the other’s waist

Sari Mahariel x Tamlen

what nonsense! of course that’s not how the story ends

I swear, I’ll try harder not to miss as much: the tree, or how your fingers under still sleep-stunned sheets coaxed all my colors back.

Ember Cousland x Alistair

“don’t look at me like that”

“My robes suit you.”

❛ i don’t want to understand, i want you to stay. ❜

Kilig (Tagalog): The feeling of butterflies in your stomach, usually when something romantic takes place

Sari Mahariel

if you are lost in your own thoughts, you may find yourself stepping off the path and into the dark woods

Just because you escape one trap, doesn’t mean you will escape the next

Dragon Age II

Léan Hawke x Fenris

“you have bested me, that much is clear”

I’d rather be hurt by you ‘cause nothing’s perfect // at least we’ll have stories to tell

Léan Hawke x Anders

I sense deception to come // honestly, truth and I are never one // 'cause I am the lying man and I have made you my next victim

“I don’t want to understand, I want you to stay.”

Mari Hawke x Anders

whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin

putting a hand over the other’s mouth to shut them up

Inquisition

Neria Surana Lavellan x Cullen

dark things have a way of slipping through the narrow spaces

L’appel du vide: the call of the void, or the instinctual urge to jump from high places

Komorebi (Japanese): The sunlight that filters through the leaves of the trees

“believe me. say you believe me.”

“given your history, I should have known better.”

kissing each other to prove there’s nothing there, accidentally proving that there was, in fact, something there

covered with scars I did nothing to earn // maybe there’s somewhere a lesson to learn // but that wouldn’t change the fact // that wouldn’t speed the time

[ hold ]  –  for the sender’s muse to hold the receiver’s muse by the face / neck gently and brush their thumbs along their cheeks   to get them to focus on them

immediately looking at the other after telling/doing something funny in hope to see their smile

a guilty conscience needs no accuser

my robes suit you

Neria Surana Lavellan & Solona Amell & Anders

hope made me stubborn

cuddling in a blanket fort

“no offense, but you look terrible”

“it’s alright, you could never hurt me”

Acacia Trevelyan x Cullen

“I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me.”

smoke me down like a bad habit // choke you down like i gotta have it

listening to the other’s heartbeat

my own bone crown / sutured and sutured and sure / until like a leaf my / chlorophyll burned / first fire then gold—a metaphor for waking, / a new body’s eyes glint / by pyre light

slow dancing

far away, long ago, glowing dim as an ember // things my heart used to know, things it yearns to remember

Irosyl Lavellan x Solas

“Lock the door and no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, do not open the door.”

"Do you remember when we first met?" paired with "oh, you're bleeding?!"

whenever you’re around, i always seem to smile // and people ask me how, well you’re the reason why // i’m dancing in the mirror and singing in the shower

Misc

Cassandra & Anders -  number one, tell me who you think you are // you got some nerve trying to tear my faith apart

Irosyl Lavellan & Cullen - a conversation you wish had happened in canon

Sari Mahariel & Cullen - “you don’t have to say anything”

Sari Mahariel & Leliana -  “because I care about you, okay?”

Sari Mahariel & Morrigan -  I can't do this without you